Bulldogs and Bumblebees
by vaticancameos
Summary: Kid!Lock AU where John and Sherlock meet in nursery school. They quickly become friends, and meet many new people. I plan to include most, if not all of the characters from BBC Sherlock.
1. Hellos and Goodbyes

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so any and all criticism is welcome. I'm an American, so please forgive any errors I make, and alert me to for reading!  
*****I don't own these characters, but if needed, I could take them off the BBC's hands.***  


"Noooo. Don't make me go in there, My." A petulant Sherlock whined. The boy called Mycroft sighed, already frustrated with the small child clinging to his leg. The two brothers stood outside a small nursery school. Sherlock had turned four over the summer, and Mummy was more than ready to get rid of him. He was, shall we say, a troublesome child. The only person who could ever get control of him was Mycroft. Sherlock adores his older brother, and despite what he might say, Mycroft enjoys it.

Mycroft shook himself out of his reminiscing, allowing himself a small smile. Once again, he turned his attention to his younger brother, and tried to shake him off his leg. But the smaller boy persisted, clinging onto Mycroft as if he were a lifeline. Holmes the older sighed again, obviously irritated. He was only 11, but was forced to grow up too fast. He has since devoted his life to making sure his younger brother never grows up. However, this could prove difficult, seeing as his father has taken a peculiar interest in him.

Finally, Sherlock let go of his leg, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was strange how quickly he let go, and without much prodding. Quite uncharacteristic, he thought. Then, Mycroft's gaze followed Sherlock, and saw that he was toddling over to a small, sandy-haired boy and what looked to be his older sister. Mycroft strolled over to them, wanting to see how Sherlock interacted with them. Living on the Holmes manor, he didn't see many other children.

"Sherlock Holmes" The taller boy said, extending his hand. The sandy-haired boy giggled, and replied "I'm John." A slight frown creased Sherlock's pale forehead, wondering why the other boy hadn't accepted his hand. He let it drop down to his side, and began to look at the sidewalk. His dark curls flopped over, creating a curtain between him and the world. Now it was John's turn to frown, confused as to why he looked so sad.

"You okay?" He asked. Sherlock looked up, and nodded silently. John beamed, and asked him "Do you want to be fwiends?" Again, Sherlock nodded, but this time with a smile. Meanwhile, Mycroft had walked over to the small group. He watched the conversation between Sherlock and the smaller boy with a smile.

"Who's this, Sherlock?" He asked his brother. Sherlock smiled again, replying "This is John. He's my fwiend." "Hello John." Mycroft replied.

He then turned towards the girl, who was also watching the interplay between the two boys. Mycroft extended his hand, but she waved it away. "None of that formality. My name's Harriet, but please call me Harry." He nodded, and replied, "Mycroft Holmes. A pleasure." She smacked him lightly on the arm. "Ah, lighten up a little. No need for this 'I'm so important, I have to be formal' nonsense. It's bloody ridiculous." A look of mild surprise passed over Mycroft's face. He wasn't used to being told off, much less by almost complete strangers.

"Alright everyone! Two year olds to the right with Mrs. Wilson! Three year olds to the left with Mrs. Clarke! And four year olds with me, Ms. Taylor! Come along then!" Everyone moved towards their appropriate locations, causing four tantrums, two crying fits and one especially long bout of screaming. "Well here's a cheery crowd." Mycroft muttered to Harry. She smiled, clearly glad that John was well behaved.

Ahead of their older siblings, John and Sherlock were chatting amicably. "I like green, what 'bout you?" "I like purple." John giggled at this. "But purple's a girl colour." "No it's not!" Sherlock crossed his arms and pouted. John giggled again. "I'm kidding!" Sherlock still wasn't completely satisfied, but he wasn't one to hold a grudge. How many four year olds do?

Soon, they were in the classroom. Harry moved to take off John's coat, but he shook his head. "I can do it!" Harry smiled. Oh, how she loved her younger brother. Mycroft looked on with interest. _Is that what normal families do? _He moved towards Sherlock to do the same, but Sherlock pushed him away. "No My. I can do it." Mycroft shrugged. Well, he tried.

"Alright everyone! Take your seats!" Ms. Taylor called out. "Parents, if you would leave now please." The adults took their leave, some lingering to give their child a hug or a kiss. Harry bent down to kiss John, and he grabbed her into a hug. "Oof, you're strong, little man." John smiled, pleased with his new nickname. Gently, Harry pried herself away and walked out the door, raising her hand in farewell.

The two Holmes brothers stared at each other, when Mycroft suddenly bent down to give Sherlock a hug. He was pleasantly surprised; Mycroft rarely showed any affection. Then, as quickly as it had begun, Mycroft ended the hug and walked out the door. He didn't look back. He never did.


	2. Lullabies

**Sorry for the delay! I've been very busy with school lately. Warnings for this chapter: some minor language.  
*****I don't own any of these characters, but I would be happy to take them off the BBC's hands***

"Alright everyone! Let's get started! Find your seats!" The little kids then began to toddle around, looking for their name. From all around the room, there were cries of "Where do I sit?" _Damn. Some of these kids can't even read._ Ms. Taylor sighed and began pointing kids to where they sat, telling them that the weird symbols on their desks were their names. She noticed that there was only one kid sitting down. She walked over to him, and asked, "Hey, what's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes" He told her seriously. She smiled, and then asked him "Can you read?" "Obviously." Sherlock replied. Ms. Taylor's eyebrows hit her hairline, surprised at this declaration. She then pulled a book from the book shelf behind him, and asked him to read it.

"I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam I Am. I do not like them on a boat. I do not like them with a goat." He closed the book and set it on the table. "Bored."

Then, there was a tugging on Ms. Taylor's sleeve. She looked down, and saw a small, sandy-haired boy staring up at her. "Where do I sit?" He asked her. She smiled kindly, and asked him, "Well, what's your name?" He stared blankly at her for a moment, then replied, "John."

Sherlock looked at the name tag on the desk next to him, and said, "You're next to me, John!" John beamed, and sat down in his seat. Almost immediately, the pair began chatting again.

"Do you like telly, Sherlock?" His curly hair flopped about as he shook his head. John looked surprised for a moment. "Why not?" Sherlock shrugged, clearly not wanting to talk about it. "I love telly. I watch it _all _the time wif Harry." A single tear ran down Sherlock's porcelain face. Suddenly, John looked very scared. "What's wrong? You okay? Don't cry!" Sherlock didn't respond to any of this. He just stared, wrapped up in the workings of his own mind.

By now, the class had started to stare at the two boys in the back of the room. Ms. Taylor ran over to them, and tried to shake Sherlock out of his stupor. Nothing worked, and she had no idea what to do. So she ran over to the directory, and proceeded to call Sherlock's father.

"What the hell do you want? I'm very busy. Who is this?" A very angry voice sounded on the other side of the line. Quite timidly, Ms. Taylor replied, "I'm Sherlock's teacher, Ms. Taylor. Your son is just sitting in the class room, silent. He is unresponsive to anything we do. Could you come help him?"

"No! I'm in the middle of an important meeting! My younger son is an imbecile! Why couldn't he be a good kid like Mycroft? Sod off!" He hung up angrily, slamming the phone onto his desk.

Ms. Taylor was shocked. How could a father be so heartless to his own son? What is he like at home with the boy? She didn't even want to think about it. So she made another call.

Within a few minutes, a breathless Mycroft Holmes was standing outside the classroom door. He was in what appeared to be a private school uniform. He rushed quickly over to Sherlock, who was still sitting silently. John was crying, trying to make him wake up. Mycroft gently pried him off Sherlock, then stared straight into his brother's deep blue eyes.

"Sherlock. It's me, My. Mind palace, go to your mind palace." Fear filled the younger boy's eyes, and he began to shake violently. "Noooooooo." He began to whimper under his breath. Mycroft grabbed onto Sherlock, unsure of what to do. He wasn't there earlier, so he didn't know what had caused it. If he knew what triggered the attack, he could stop the problem.

He turned to John, and grabbed onto his shoulders. "What were you and Sherlock talking about? This is important. Give me details!" John was scared of this older boy. He was angry, but why? He decided he would tell the scary boy, because he could maybe help his friend. "We were talking about telly. I said that I liked telly, and watch it with Harry." Fear filled Mycroft's eyes, and he turned back to Sherlock.

"Deep in the shadows of their cave. Three playful lions misbehave. Soon they'll grow tired, lay in a heap. Mother will watch them go to sleep." Mycroft began to sing a lullaby in a beautiful baritone. Sherlock blinked, and his shaking began to subside. "High in an oak tree, safe in a nest. Four tiny robins take their rest. Mother beside them, sweetly they peep. Evening is falling. Go to sleep." His shaking stopped, and he fell weakly into his older brother's arms.

Mycroft sighed in relief, and helped him get back into his chair. He then looked seriously at John, and said, "If he ever gets this way again, hug him and sing to him until I get there. Understand?" John nodded. Satisfied, Mycroft went over and kissed Sherlock on the forehead. "You okay now?" He muttered to his younger brother. "Yes." Sherlock whispered back. Then, Mycroft stood up and walked out of the door for the second time that day.

"Well, sorry for the interruption. Why don't we begin with a story?" Ms. Taylor smiled out at her students, and began to read.

**The song that Mycroft sang to Sherlock was "Go to Sleep". It was an animal lullaby, and it is the only thing that can calm Sherlock down. **


	3. Strawberry Jam

**This chapter is a long one! Sorry, my muse demanded to be heard. If you were confused by Sherlock's panic attack last chapter, don't worry. You find the reason in this one. Warnings: Minor language, and brief description of abuse.  
*****I don't own any of these characters, but I would love to take them off the BBC's hands.***

Just as the clock hit 11:00 am, Ms. Taylor closed the book with a snap. "Snack time! If you brought a snack, you can eat it now. If not, come to get one from me!" The clump of four year olds ambled over to their bags and coats in the corner.

"What food do you have?" John asked Sherlock. The dark-haired boy shrugged, and rifled around in his coat pockets. Triumphantly, he pulled out a packet of crisps and an orange. He beamed at John, then asked him, "What do you have?" John reached into his bag, and found a small bag of Jammie Dodgers. "Mine is better!" The smaller boy claimed happily. The pair exchanged a smile, then found a spot on the floor to sit.

"We should split our food!" Sherlock exclaimed. John nodded, and began to open his biscuits package. As the rest of the kids got settled and began to eat, Ms. Taylor passed out napkins. Sherlock emptied the crisp packet onto one napkin, and John dumped the Jammie Dodgers onto the other.

"How do you open an orange?" A voice from a certain curly-haired boy piped up. Ms. Taylor walked over to Sherlock, knife in hand. "Here, hand it to me. I'll open it." A small, pale hand placed the orange in her larger one. Smiling, she took it over to the counter, and cut it into small slices for the two boys. She put the orange on a plate, and brought it back to them.

By the time that Ms. Taylor came back with the orange, Sherlock and John had already demolished half the crisps and all but two of the Jammie Dodgers. She set the plate between the boys, and they began to devour that too. She smiled, shaking her head. _I can't imagine how much food they'll eat when they get older. I pity their parents._

Too soon it seemed, snack time was over. Ms. Taylor directed the four year olds back to their desks. She then began to pass out some paper and crayons. Some of the kids just stared, unsure of what to draw. Others started scribbling right away.

"What are you drawing, John?" Sherlock asked. John looked down at the spread of crayons on his desk, and shrugged. "I dunno." Sherlock's pale hand reached across the table, and grabbed a yellow and a black crayon.

Sherlock's hands moved busily across the page, sketching circles and lines, and generally scribbling everywhere. His little tongue protruded from his mouth as he worked. Soon he shoved his drawing into John's face. He smiled proudly, and said, "Bumblebee!"

John grinned at Sherlock, and began to closely examine the picture. His tiny brow furrowed, as he noticed, "He doesn't have a stingy bit." Sherlock was prepared for this, and explained, "That's cuz he's a nice bee. He doesn't want to hurt people." The sandy-haired boy nodded, accepting this explanation.

Now it was John's turn to try. He grasped a red crayon in his fist, and frowned in concentration. When he finished, his paper was almost entirely red. John pushed his drawing across to his dark-haired companion, and declared loudly, "JAM!"

Ms. Taylor's head snapped up from her book at the sudden interjection. She glanced at the sheepish sandy-haired boy at the back of the room, and smiled. "A little quieter please." She said gently. John nodded, slightly self-conscious at being called out.

After his admonishment, John pointed at his drawing again. "Jam." He said, much quieter than before. Sherlock nodded. He didn't like hearing things twice, but he listened because this was John. And John was special. Sherlock couldn't think of much to say, so he asked the obvious question. "What kind of jam?"

John thought about this for a moment, before deciding. "Strawberry." He announced, remembering halfway through to keep his voice down. Again, Sherlock nodded. John felt like his declaration required further explanation, so he went on.

"Strawberry is the best jam. I eat it on bread _every_ day. It tastes good!" John, like most four year olds, was very excitable. As he talked about his favorite food, a grin spread quickly across his face. John's smile could eclipse the sun, and he spread joy whenever he graced the world with his delight.

John and Sherlock then proceeded to have a very in-depth discussion about their favorite foods, and food in general. They forgot all about their drawings, and by everyone had already produced many pictures while the two boys had only made one.

Time was passing far too quickly for Sherlock and John's liking. All too soon, Ms, Taylor called out, "Class is dismissed! See you all tomorrow!" She opened the door to let parents in to pick up their kids. A steady stream of adults came in, and helped their children into their coats. At the end of the line stood Harry and Mycroft.

Harry, like the other parents, helped John into his tiny leather jacket. She picked his lunch bag up off the floor, and held out her hand. Her brother's tiny hand grabbed on, and held on tightly. He raised his free hand in good-bye, and called out, "Bye bye Sherlock!" His dark-haired friend waved back, and began to look for his coat.

Mycroft stood silently, watching these proceedings. Then, he heard someone calling his name. He turned around, and saw Ms. Taylor motioning him over. He sighed, resigning himself to the questions that he was sure would come.

"What happened earlier? Do panic attacks like that just spring out of nowhere? And what the hell caused it to happen in the first place?" Her voice was quiet, but her tone was clear. She was royally pissed off. Mycroft's next words did nothing to quell her fury.

"Do you ever ask questions one at a time?" Mycroft's voice was condescending, despite being over 20 years younger than the woman he was talking to. If looks could kill, Mycroft would have long since been a pile of ashes. Ms. Taylor had a gaze of pure fire. "Answer. My. Questions." She spoke deliberately, and Mycroft knew that he should answer her to avoid being slapped.

"What happened to Sherlock earlier was indeed a panic attack. It didn't spring out of nowhere; it was triggered." At this last word, Ms. Taylor's eyes widened. "Triggered? By what?" Her voice was timid, as if she was afraid of what the answer might be. As hard as it was to talk about, Mycroft knew that she had to be told. His brother's sanity may depend on it.

Resignedly, Mycroft began to tell his story. "His attack was triggered by a traumatic experience. John was talking about telly, one of the most harmless subjects in the world. Unless you're Sherlock Holmes. Our father...is not the nicest man. He holds a great deal of power, and he misuses it when things get bad."

"My father has a special hatred for Sherlock. Ever since his tiny, pale body emerged from his wife's womb. Our father so desperately wanted a girl, and he blames Sherlock for taking that from him. To say that he is hard on my brother would be an understatement." Mycroft had to take a deep breath before continuing. This part was always the hardest.

"Sherlock is ordinarily never allowed to watch telly. Our father forbids it; says that it rots the brain. One summer evening, he was out on a business trip. A kindly maid let Sherlock sit in her lap and watch _Iron Chef UK_ with her. But our father came home early, just that one day." Strangely, Mycroft began to feel a slight prickling behind his eyes. He rubbed them vigorously to stop any tears from falling.

"When my father discovered Sherlock watching telly, he was furious. He grabbed Sherlock by one arm, and roughly dragged him into his study. I was upstairs, and didn't see what was going on. I only heard. My little brother was screaming and crying; my father was yelling. I could hear the dull impact of flesh upon flesh, as my father hit Sherlock. Over and over again, until I could no longer hear screaming. From my vantage point on the stairs, I had no idea if my brother was dead." Despite Mycroft's best efforts, tears fell silently from his eyes.

"I didn't care what would happen to me, I honestly didn't care. All that mattered in that moment was taking care of my brother. I ran downstairs, and kicked the study door open. It was forbidden, but I could give a damn. I wasn't prepared for the sight I saw. My father's face was red with fury, and my brother was still on the floor. He was curled up in the fetal position, lying in a pool of his own blood. I scooped him up, and carried him up to my room. I could feel my father's seething gaze at my back, but I still didn't care. My brother has always been my only true family." Tears continued to fall down Holmes the older's alabaster face. There was no stopping them now. A single wretched sob escaped his pale, thin lips and he collapsed into Ms. Taylor's willing embrace.


	4. Ray of Sunshine

**Author's Note: Sorry, this is a bit of a short chapter. I'll try to make the next one longer. Please review, they always make my day!  
*I do not own any of these characters, but I would be willing to take them off the BBC's hands.***

Ms. Taylor held the 11 year old, whispering soothing words into his ears. Suddenly, he straightened up, and wiped away his tears. "I can't afford to cry in front of my brother. I need to be strong for him." Mycroft half-whispered. Ms. Taylor's heart was breaking for this boy in front of her. He was far too old to be 11; a 30 year old in the body of a preteen.

* * *

Completely unaware of the discussion between his brother and teacher, Sherlock was chatting amicably with John. Harry was trying to divide her attention between the two boys in front of her, and the broken boy in Ms. Taylor's embrace. Her heart was breaking for this enigmatic young man, who was not much older than her. Harry couldn't stand to see others in pain, and she wanted to help him. However, she knew that any attempt to comfort him wouldn't be appreciated.

"I love jumpers! They're so soft and warm!" John was getting more and more enthusiastic as the conversation went on. Like we said earlier, he's a very excitable boy. Sherlock was almost as caught up in their chat as John was. And this was saying something. Despite his precious few years on this earth, he had never found anyone that he talked to and confided in besides his brother.

* * *

In the front of the classroom, Ms. Taylor was still trying to comfort Mycroft. He was no longer crying, but still looked broken. It had felt good to tell someone, but he still felt the burden of keeping his brother safe. Sherlock was still in danger, always in danger of his father's anger.

"Can't you tell anyone?" Before she finished her sentence, Mycroft was already shaking his head. "Why not?" Ms. Taylor was puzzled. If Mycroft wanted to protect his little brother, didn't it make sense to remove him from the abusive household?

Mycroft waited a few seconds before responding. He wasn't fond of his father, and disliked talking about him. "My father is basically the British government. If he was to be charged, he could easily convince the judge to look the other way. He is far above the reach of the law."

Ms. Taylor was horrified at what he was saying. "What about..." She hadn't even asked her question, and Mycroft was already shaking his head no. Indignant, she said, "I haven't even finished my question."

As if exasperated by her ignorance, Mycroft sighed before replying. "You were going to ask about my mother. She can't do anything." He took a brief pause before continuing. "My father has his own ways of holding power over her."

Mycroft then glanced towards the back of the classroom. His little brother was safe in Harry's hands, but he wanted to get home soon. "Thank you, Ms. Taylor. For everything." With that, he raised his hand in farewell, and went to get Sherlock.

Ms. Taylor watched Mycroft go, and wished she could do more to help the two brothers. Mycroft, who was forced to grow up too fast. Sherlock, who was the victim of his father's hatred. John will be good for him, she thought. A ray of sunshine in Sherlock's storm.


	5. The Little Yellow House

**Author's Note: I'm not liking where this fic is going. I'm going to write a few more chapters, but updates will be slower. I will finish the fic, but I'm sorry in advance about the ending. Just a tip; enjoy the fluff while it lasts. **

Harry watched Mycroft curiously, wondering what had happened between him and Ms. Taylor. Yes, it was none of her business, but that never stopped her. 11 year old girls are born to snoop. She grabbed onto her little brother's hand, and the two of them walked out of the school.

"Bye-bye Sherlock!" John waved to his new friend as he walked with his sister to the bus stop. Sherlock waved back, and John was tempted to run back over there and hug him. But, his sister was tugging on his hand, and he had no choice but to follow her.

Brother and sister walked hand in hand, until they reached the nearest bus stop. There, they waited in silence for a few minutes. A bright red, double-decker bus pulled up in front of them, and they walked on. "Can we go on top, Harry?" John asked his sister, with puppy-dog eyes. Harry couldn't resist when her little brother made those eyes, so she smiled and nodded.

John's face lit up in a beatific smile, as Harry handed the driver a few notes. Despite being 6 years younger, the little boy dragged his older sister up the stairs of the bus. He ran to try to find a window seat, and plopped down, still grinning. And Harry couldn't help but smile back.

The small, sandy-haired boy stared out the window, enthralled by the buildings racing past. He was such a cheerful little kid, and was always amazed by the world around him. Harry was constantly having to answer his questions about how the world worked. Like most four-year olds, John's favourite word was "why?"

Introducing a montage of John's most recent questions. "Why is the building tall?" "Why are you older than me?" "Why aren't there stars in day?" "Why is the sun yellow?" "Why I am short?" "Why are you a girl?" "Why do I like the colour blue?" "Why won't Mummy let me have what she's drinking?" "Why are the flowers brown?" And most recently, "Why can Sherlock read?"

Harry held John's hand as the bus rode on through London. Eventually, it slowed to a stop, just a block from their house. The rain had started on their drive from the nursery, and showed no signs of stopping. Harry felt around in her purse, trying to find her umbrella. _Damn._ She remembered it was sitting inside her neighbor's house. She had forgotten it there when she went to see Clara, her secret girlfriend.

The two siblings stepped off the red, double-decker bus, hand in hand. They walked through their neighborhood, and Harry had to keep her younger brother in line. Like we said before, he was very interested in the world around him, and wanted to know everything about everything.

Harry fumbled in her pocket for her key, and slowly pulled the door open. The house was empty, as per usual. Dad was away on a "business" trip, and Mum was working long hours at the hospital. The Watson children usually came home to a vacant house, and Harry was left to do all the motherly duties. She was only 10, but she had to grow up for her little brother.

The Watson house was a cheery spot on Adam's Row. It was a small, yellow thing, and it betrayed none of the happenings inside.


End file.
